


Hera's Remorse

by Fredericus



Category: Lore Olympus (Webcomic)
Genre: Dark, Heavy Angst, Holocaust, Other, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:22:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27259375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fredericus/pseuds/Fredericus
Summary: The Trojan War has just ended and Priam's city is put to the torch. Watching from Olympus, Hera begins to regret her earlier behavior.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 12





	Hera's Remorse

1.

Hera did not feel like a victor.

While she had felt a brief frisson of satisfaction as the city of Priam fell, it soon vanished in the carnage that followed: the looting and burning of the temples (including her own); the slaughter of the men; the enslavement (and worse) of the women...

and what they did to the children... 

As awful as all it was, the behavior of her divine colleagues was more disturbing: a monstrous voyeurism that held them all in it's grip: Ares smirking over every act of blood; Leto's brats, Artemis and Apollo, faces pale in the light of the television, gaping at the screen with slack-jawed fascination. Even her husband was affected. Zeus' face seemed calm, even serene, but Hera could detect the familiar gleam in his eye, a look usually reserved for the mortals he took a fancy to.

A sharp, barking, laugh caught caught Hera's attention and she turned to see Athena, resplendent in her uniform, eyes fixed on the screen, a look of terrifying satisfaction on her face. Hera turned back to the television, just in time to see Astyanax pitched from the walls.

She ran from the room, through the house, and out into the starlit garden. It had suddenly become very hard to breathe and a great weight had settled in the pit of her stomach, but that was nothing compared to the guilt that now burgeoned in her mind.

_I am the Goddess of Marriage!_

_I am the Goddess of the Family!_

_I am the Goddess of Childbirth!_

There was a small decorative fountain in the center of the garden, ringed by a pair of semi-circular benches. Hera sat and tried to marshal her whirling thoughts.

_How can I have wanted this, for Hecate's sake?_

_No! I NEVER wanted this!_

_Never! Ne-!_

"Feeling remorse?" a voice said.

Hera turned and beheld a female figure clad in the panoply of a classic Greek hoplite, crested Corinthian helmet enclosing the head save for the eyes and mouth; heavy linen _linothorax_ and skirt-like _peturges_ covering the body; bronze greaves covering the lower legs; the great stabbing spear in her right hand.

Sudden fear eclipsed Hera's shame and she suddenly found it hard to speak, barely managing to croak out a one word question" "Athena?"

The helmeted woman laughed: a deep, rich, feminine chuckle, sounding slightly stuffy from the confines of her her helmet: "Athena! Oh, that's good! That's a thing of beauty! Ha!"

The stranger sat next to Hera and she flinched in fear: "Peace, Daughter of Metis! I was just tarrying here for a moment to take in the scents of your garden, the loveliest on Olympus! I've not really had the opportunity to experience it before. You and I don't really get along, after all."

The woman removed her helmet and Hera gaped in shock. The skin of her visitor was a deep red, and the eyes burned with a yellow flame; but there was no mistaking the visitor's heart-shaped face, high cheekbones, and sensuous lips.

"Aphrodite?" Hera gasped.

"Yes, niece, it's me," the Goddess of Beauty replied. "I was on my way to Sparta when I saw you come into the garden. You looked upset."

Hera was so nonplussed at her visitor's unusual appearance that curiosity overcame her habitual dislike. "So why the military getup?"

"The Spartans worship me in my aspect of Aphrodite Areia," the goddess replied with a shrug. "So this is how I appear to them."

"Why am I not surprised?" Hera said dryly. "The Spartans turn everything into a military drill. Even love."

"Even child-birth, my niece."

"I'm not your niece, Aphrodite!" Hera flared. She hadn't looked to start a fight with the other goddess, no matter how cool their relations were, but knowing what she did about the Spartan practice of infant exposure, along with the all too recent image of Astyanax being hurled to his death, both revolted and angered her.

"No, Hera." Aphrodite conceded. "You're not my niece. What should I call you, then?"

"How about 'Your Royal Majesty' damn it!" Hera yelled, getting to her feet. "I'm sick to death of not receiving the respect I'm due! Especially from someone who has hurt me as much as you and your damnable brat of a son have!"

"Do you think your husband is so blameless, Majesty?" Aphrodite replied mildly. "Yes, my son can ignite Zeus' passion with his darts, but even Zeus, King of the Gods, Ruler of Olympus, has free will! So do you!"

"What do you suggest, oh, wise one?" Hera retorted, her anger in full bloom now. "Leave him? We all know what happened the last time I defied him, don't we?" Impulsively, Hera pulled her blouse up, exposing the crisscrossed scars of her ancient agony stitched across her belly. "I still remember the pain, Aphrodite. Of all of you, only Zeus' brothers and Prometheus have suffered thus."

Aphrodite's eyes widened in horror, but she held firm. "Truly, Your Majesty has suffered, and suffered terribly. But your pain has made you cruel in turn."

"What in Tartarus are you talking about?" Hera demanded.

"I'm talking about Io, Majesty," Aphrodite said calmly. I'm talking about Callisto, I'm talking about Europa, Semele, and on, and on, and on. Zeus hurts you, and you exacerbate the pain by hurting others. It's not your fault that your husband is so faithless, but it's not their fault, either."

"They lay with him, dammit!" Hera raged. "They consorted and coupled with him!"

"Oh, for Hecate's sake, Majesty, have a little heart! Put yourself in their place for just a dammed minute! A mortal woman suddenly finds out she's been impregnated by the great and mighty Zeus! Never mind she didn't ask for it, maybe wasn't even aware of it! Then she's faced with your implacable wrath! You're the Goddess of Motherhood and Childbirth, Hera; yet you may as well be one of the Furies to them!"

"You don't understand, damn your eyes!" Hera yelled. "I had to punish them! I had no choice!"

"Why? What's driving you, Hera!"

"Because I was afraid one of them would replace me!" Hera cried, sitting back down and weeping as years of hapless rage and pent up grief poured out of her. She wept for all the ones she had harmed and all the ones she'd seen harmed. She wept for Io, and Callisto; for Europa and Semele; for Hecuba and Andromache, now both widowed; and she wept for their children, sons and daughters alike.

She was only dimly aware of Aphrodite's embrace at first. The pleated cloth of the _linothorax_ rough against her cheek: an un-Aphrodite embrace as could be imagined. "I wish I'd never seen that damned apple!" she muttered.

"You and me both, Majesty." Aphrodite whispered.

"But you won the prize!" Hera sniffled.

"Yes, I did, Majesty," the other goddess said, and the grief in her voice was palatable: "And look where it got us. I sometimes wish Odysseus had received the apple and not that stupid country bumpkin!"

Hera laughed sadly. "You can be sure none of us would have won it in that case!"

"Probably would have given it to that precious little wife of his." Aphrodite muttered.

"You know, your treatment of mortals hasn't been exactly exemplary either." Hera said. She hadn't intended it as a dig, just a sad statement on the hypocrisy that was omnipresent in every interaction between people, whether divine or mortal. To her relief, Aphrodite shrugged.

"You're right, Majesty. If you want, you're more than welcome to visit my garden some night and regale me on my faults. It's only fair after all." She said, smiling sardonically, then stood. "I should probably go. I'm needed in Sparta, if for no other reason than to prevent Menelaus and Helen from killing each other."

"Can I ask you something?" Hera suddenly said.

Aphrodite bowed. "You have only to ask, Your Royal Majesty."

"Why didn't we fight just now? I mean _really_ fight? Normally, we can't stand one another. Yet here we are actually being reasonable, and I'm actually enjoying your company."

"I'm not entirely sure, Majesty," Aphrodite confessed, then thumped the ground with the butt of her spear. "Maybe it's this aspect of me. When I'm like this, I feel all practical and businesslike."

"Very Spartan," Hera agreed.

"Yes," Aphrodite said, but her mood became more pensive. "On the other hand, we've both witnessed something horrible this night. Something as far from both love and motherhood as can be imagined. How can anyone see that and not feel changed."

The Goddess of Love was about to leave, then suddenly turned back. "One more thing, Majesty."

"Yes?"

"A new goddess walks among us. I believe she's slated for Hade's court, but you might want to go and see her before the Unseen One comes for her."

"Why?"

"She's young, Majesty, barely into her twenties. Such a goddess might still need a mother, if only for a short while."

"I see. Where can I find her?"

"In the woods around Aulus, near Artemis' sacred grove."

"What's her name?"

"She's Clytemnestra's girl. Iphigenia."

2.

Hera really didn't like spending time away from Olympus. A faithless husband needed constant watching, and Zeus had been restless and moody of late. Such behavior usually indicated a dalliance was in the offing.

So she was perversely grateful when she visited him at his office and walked in on the randy bastard snogging with his personal assistant. A Zeus making an idiot out of himself with Thetis was preferable to a Zeus sowing his oats elsewhere.

Not that she was going to let him off the hook...

"You asshole!" Hera sneered, bringing all the contempt she could muster to bear (which was considerable).

"Bunny, don't be like that," Zeus pleaded, his normally purple features darkening to near indigo with embarrassment.

"Don't _Bunny_ me!" Hera raged. "What if I'd had Hebe here with me?" She jerked a thumb at Thetis, who was doing a stand up job of looking both embarrassed and insufferably smug. "What would your daughter have thought of you locking lips with this trash!"

"What would she think of your insufferable snobbery, dear wife?" Zeus retorted. "None of the other Olympians seem to have an objection to the non-Olympians working and living among us."

"Then you're not paying attention, dear husband." Hera shot back, then turned a condescending gaze at Thetis. "My husband really only thinks of you as his fuck-toy, dear. Best get used to it."

If the King of the Gods expression was dark before, it was now positively black with fury. " _GET OUT!_ " he roared, a blast of thunder adding emphasis to his command. Hera retreated, her sudden spike of fear was more than compensated for by seeing the utterly devastated look on Thetis' face.

_That's right! You're a fuck-toy, bitch! Chew on that!_

_Still, that'll keep him occupied...and out of my hair._

* * *

Aulus was a nondescript little village set within an equally nondescript little inlet on the coast of Boeotia; just across a narrow strait from the island of Euboea. When she first saw how small the town was, Hera couldn't credit it with the place where the great Greek armada had set becalmed for months. Then she spent some time walking the nearby beaches on both sides of the strait and the image came to her easily enough: serried rows of _triremes_ pulled up onto the shore, surrounded by the vast tent city of the Greek host, all summoned by High King Agamemnon to avenge--

"His stupid brother who was too dense to keep an eye on his wife." Hera muttered in disgust. "All that blood and suffering and death over that silly little girl."

Even as she vented her annoyance, Hera knew she wasn't being fair: _That 'silly little girl' was in love. Moreover, Aphrodite was probably doing her level best to inflame the poor thing's passion even further. You know how destructive love can be._

Yet, it seems that even Aphrodite was having cause for regret.

The shrine to Artemis proved easy enough to find: a rough-hewn sacrificial altar set in the middle of a small clearing in the wooded hills that rose above the shore. Walking the winding footpath up from the beach, Hera could easily imagine the priests of Artemis leading animals up the path to be sacrificed to appease the Goddess of the Hunt.

And on one occasion, the High King's own daughter...

Iphigenia...

_Why in Tartarus would Artemis demand such a thing?_

Looking at the altar stone, the gray rock tinted red from the innumerable sacrifices conducted here; Hera could think of several reasons, none of them very complimentary to Leto's daughter, whom she'd never really liked.

"And not just because she's another one of Zeus' brats," she huffed defensively. "She claims authority were she has no writ to do so! A virgin fancying herself a Goddess of Childbirth. It's disgraceful! And midwifery? Eileithyia can do that without that little minx's poaching!"

"Because it annoys you so very, very, much, Hera," came a mocking voice voice from behind her. "That alone makes it all worthwhile!"

Hera turned to see Artemis leaning against a cypress tree, surrounded by her hunting dogs, making no attempt to hide her contempt.

"Every woman praying to me for a safe birth and a healthy child is one less praying to you, or your daughter." The moon goddess smirked.

"Pretty arrogant behavior coming from someone who's never experienced either." Hera shot back.

"I know. The irony is so delicious, don't you think? Expectant mothers praying to a virgin goddess. And the beautiful thing is you can't do anything about it! You're not Hades so you won't get them in the end. You'll just have to deal with the fact that you're yesterdays news. A relic!"

"I'm not too much of a relic that I can't give you a good thrashing like the last time, you smarmy bitch!" Hera spat, remembering boxing Artemis' ears with the goddess' own arrows. 

Artemis no doubt remembered it too. Letting out a low whistle, her dogs immediately sprang forward, placing themselves between Hera and their mistress. They did not snarl or growl, which made their behavior all the more disconcerting. Hera froze.

"You even think about laying a finger on me..." Artemis hissed, "and they'll tear you to pieces!"

"Just like they did to Actaeon?" Hera replied. "I may be a relic, Artemis, and I may be a bane to my husband's lovers, but I never slaughtered anyone for nearly seeing me naked."

"You're a hag, Hera," Artemis sneered. "I'd think you'd be grateful for anyone's attention, whether you were naked or not."

Red rage boiled up behind Hera's eyes and she felt herself on the threshold, when the memory of Artemis's rapt expression from last night stopped her cold. The moon goddess' glassy eyed stare and hungry look watching...

"Astyanx..." Hera whispered.

"What did you say?" Artemis asked, suddenly out of her depth.

"Astyanx," Hera repeated, her voice heavy with some, as yet unexpressed emotion. "Son of Hector and Andromache."

"What are you talking about?" Artemis asked, but the moon goddess could have been on the far side of Tartarus now, for all Hera cared. Her mind was elsewhere, remembering the tiny body pitched from the walls of Ilium like so much trash: an innocent death to punctuate the end of a terrible war.

 _And the beginning?_ Hera thought, _another innocent slain as well..._

"Iphigenia, daughter of Agamemnon and Clytemnestra," Hera murmured. "By Olympus, what terrible symmetry."

Sudden terror shook her, and an awful premonition darkened her thought.

_The truth will be terrible..._

_So be it..._

"Daughter of Agamemnon!" Hera cried. "The daughter of Metis craves an audience! Please grant me the grace of your divine presence!"

"Hera!" Artemis cried. "What in the name of Olympus are you --"

A horrible metallic odor filled the air, and the Goddess of the Hunt was rendered speechless as the new deity made her presence felt.

3.

The newcomer was small, just a tad over five feet tall. Her face was concealed by a bridal veil, and she was clad in royal matrimonial finery: a necklace of multi-hued gems hung from her neck, while a belt of intertwined gold and silver leaf girt a bridal gown of white trimmed with purple. The body under the attire was slender in build and hinted at a coltish athleticism, and Hera could easily imagine the girl running among the olive groves of Argos with her sisters.

Then the girl drew aside her veil and the aura of youth vanished like a wisp of smoke. Only the Fates had features that were comparable in age; but while their lined and elderly faces conveyed wisdom (as well as the occasional smirk of amusement); the girl's face looked _old:_ careworn and gaunt, sunken cheeked, carrying a weariness that spoke of endless grieving. Most disturbing were her eyes: two ebon pits that caught Hera's gaze and held it. Despite her discomfort, Hera was moved by maternal pity and stepped forward to embrace the child goddess.

"Iphigenia?" Hera asked.

The girl's reply stopped Hera in her tracks. The voice was utterly flat, without life. A sepulchral whisper that chilled Hera's blood, even as it caused her pulse to race in fear.

"You have called me, and I have come. What would you ask of me?"

Iphigenia's words coiled around Hera and she flinched in fear. Artemis cried out and Hera noticed the moon goddess back away, averting her eyes. Hera had to restrain herself from doing the same. There seemed something profoundly wrong that such an entity could exist. Yet here she was, speaking with a voice of stone and dark eyes boring into her. Overcoming her panic, Hera knelt before this impossibly ancient child and took her hand.

"Can I help you, child, in any way? Any way at all?" Hera whispered. She had a brief memory flash of Astynax, torn from his screaming mother's arms and hurled into the abyss. Guilt tore at her, while the desire to do something, _anything,_ to atone for her indifference weighed on her like a stone.

"Can you...help...me?" the girl answered, echoing the question. Two red pinpoints appeared in the pits of her eyes and she stared at Hera's hand holding her own: golden skin contrasting with gray . Then Iphigenia tightened her grip and Hera winced as her hand was drawn inexorably towards the girl's neck. Clytemnestra's murdered daughter than tilted her head back and Hera gasped in horror at the great scar that ran across Iphigenia's throat, going from ear to ear.

"The priests of Artemis slit my throat like a lamb's, daughter of Metis, while my father watched. My mother couldn't help me. Not even mighty Achilles could help me." Iphigenia whispered, the pain and anger in her voice unmistakable. "And you wonder if there's anything _you_ can do for me?"

Hera was no coward. As a veteran of the wars against the Titans, she had stood against the likes of Kronos himself. And while she hadn't been scarred like her sister, Demeter, even the Goddess of the Harvest readily acknowledged Hera's courage. Yet now, staring into Iphigenia's eyes, hearing the grief in her voice, it took all of Hera's strength to master her fear and speak.

"Y-yes, child. I want to know if I can help you. In _any_ way. I-I f-find myself regretting the things I did. Th-things that lead to your death, as well as that of many others. If that means suffering your wrath...then so be it."

Iphigenia smiled. "I cannot speak to acts of _wrath,_ Majesty. But I can reveal truth. Are you willing to see the truth? The end results of your decisions, and those of others?"

"Y-yes."

"Then you will be rewarded for your courage, Queen of Olympus." Iphigenia said, and red lights in her eyes suddenly flared, filling Hera's vision, overwhelming everything: the land, the trees, the light. Over it all, Hera could hear Iphigenia's voice, not dead and lifeless but roaring like thunder in her ears.

_"I will show you how it ends, Your Majesty! I will show you the world the mortals will build over my grave! I will show it to you! NOW!"_

* * *

When her vision returned, Hera gaped in shock.

The pair were standing on the crest of a high hill. Hera's mouth was dry and it was hard to breathe: the air was hot and great columns of smoke rose into the sky, rising from the stricken city they saw burning below them.

As a lover of things being _just so,_ Hera liked cities: their walls and towers, palaces and temples, their multitudes of inhabitants going about their lives. The underlying unity of it all. Order from chaos. She was pretty sure that was one of the reasons the fall of Ilium was so unexpectedly upsetting: the buildings going up in flames, their treasures and offerings to the gods plundered. Chaos let lose with a vengeance.

Yet looking down at the cataclysm unfolding before her, the destruction of Priam's city paled to insignificance. This city was larger than Troy, much larger, and it's death throes were far more terrifying.

"What is this place, Iphigenia?" Hera gasped, her mouth suddenly dry from something other than the heat.

"It is called Jerusalem, Majesty. The Temple has just fallen to the Legions."

While Hera had never heard the words, _Jerusalem,_ or _Legions,_ before, it was readily apparent what Iphigenia meant. As for the Temple, it was obviously the great rectangular structure that dominated the skyline, burning its guts out under a great pall of smoke. She didn't know what god it was dedicated to, but Hera still felt the destruction of the building on a deep, visceral, level.

_Temples are Holy, they shouldn't be desecrated like this!_

"This is worse than Troy," Hera muttered.

"Indeed," Iphigenia replied. "Priam's city held out for ten years and in the end fell to a stratagem: a wooden horse. Here, the defenders only lasted five months while the city was systematically obliterated around them. The destruction you see today is only the latest part of that terrible grinding down of all resistance. If you look closely, Majesty, you can see all the artifice of the besiegers at work."

Hera stared, both fascinated and repelled, seeing the truth of Iphigenia's words: the great timber palisade with it's scores of watchtowers, ringing the stricken city and hemming the defenders in. The towers, catapults, rams, and ballistae that the attackers had used to reduce the walls to rubble, as well as the great ramps they had raised for their assault. Many of the siege engines were burnt out and a couple of the ramps had collapsed, silent testimony to the ferocity of the defenders. Finally, there was the demolished sections of the city that the attackers had previously taken: remains of walls sticking out like broken teeth; whole neighborhoods of houses razed flat.

Hera found her gaze drawn to several unusual thickets of leafless trees that were scattered between the city walls and the besieger's palisade. As she looked closer, she felt her breath catch in her throat, initially unable to credit what she was seeing.

_Those aren't trees..._

She looked at the rows of crucified bodies and found it hard to speak. When she did, her voice was a strangled whisper: "Gods! What would possess people to kill others so?"  
  
"The besiegers intend it to impart a lesson, Majesty." Iphigenia said quietly. The city revolted several years ago, and now the people it revolted against have returned, bent on imparting that lesson."

"And that lesson is?"

" _This is the price that all rebels will pay."_ Iphigenia intoned. "Surely, your husband has enacted similar punishments against those who defy him?"

Hera suddenly felt very uncomfortable. "Well, yes, but that is the prerogative of the gods, is it not?" she asked, not liking her words, even as she spoke them.

"It is also the prerogative of states, Majesty. All such entities, regardless of whom they rule, will ruthlessly crush any defiance."

"Who are these people?"

"The _Romaioi_ , Majesty. A people who come from the lands to the north of Enna. In the mortal realm of our time, they don't even exist as a distinct people, unlike Agamemnon or Priam's folk. Nevertheless they will grow to become an empire and conquer much of the world as we know it. Such empires take a dim view of rebellion. 

The wind shifted, blowing towards them, Hera could smell the scents of burning cedar and frankincense, intermingled with the ghastly stench of seared flesh. The wind also carried the sounds of many voices chanting one word, repeating it over and over:

_Imperator!_

_Imperator!_

_Imperator!_

The language was coarse and ugly to Hera's ears. "Do you know what in Tartarus they're saying?"

The soldiers are acclaiming the man who has led them to victory. _Conquering General_ is not an inaccurate translation," Iphigenia replied. "Like so many other people, the _Romaioi_ hold victory in war as the highest form of virtue, or _virtus,_ as they would call it.

"There's no virtue or glory here." Hera muttered in disgust. "Just a mob of killers chanting some stupid title to some nobody who led them in their slaughter."

"How is that any different from the Greeks before Troy?" Iphigenia replied.

"That was totally different, child!" Hera said stubbornly. "Achilles and the other heroes fought for the honor of Menalaus. Paris violated all the laws of hospitality in taking Helen. Such disgusting and arrogant hubris needed to be punished!"

Iphigenia looked at Hera for a moment and the pity in her eyes was unmistakable. "Yes, that's how it began, wasn't it? Do you think those on the thousand ships believed that?" Did you believe that, Majesty?"

"I-I, I don't-" Hera began, then stopped.

_I dare not lie to this child..._

There was an uncomfortable silence. In the distance, the cheers of the soldiers had ceased.

"No." Hera finally said, with a great sigh. "No, I wanted to punish Paris, and by extension, all the Trojans. I wanted them to pay for my humiliation."

"Thank you for not trying to deceive me, Majesty." Iphigenia said, a thin smile flickering on her lips. "As for the Greeks themselves, who knows? Maybe they believed it, the glory of it. At least in the beginning."

"Perhaps," Hera agreed.

Iphigenia's smile abruptly vanished. "But we both know how it ended, don't we?" she said. "By the time the city fell, they had lost all restraint, no longer taking prisoners, let alone exchanging them, like they did in the beginning."

"Nor honoring the dead." Hera agreed, the memory of Achilles dragging Hector's corpse suddenly appearing in her memory. "I cheered when Achilles killed him, Iphigenia, _I cheered_ ."

"I know you did, Majesty. But you were hardly alone in that."

The child goddess' words brought scant comfort. "Yet Peleus' son was able to quell his rage," Hera muttered sadly. "Quell it enough to gain some small redemption. What's my excuse?"

"The fact that you feel remorse over how you behaved, is to your credit, Majesty." Iphigenia said. "That's a good start. You also offered to help me. I will need your help before this is over."

"What? You mean this has only begun?"

"Most assuredly, Majesty," Iphigenia replied. She took one last look at the burning city before turning away. "We should go. The city will fall soon and the conquerors will have their revenge. I fear it will be worse than Troy, but I'm not surprised."

"Where are we going now?" Hera asked.

"Someplace worse than this, Majesty."

"Worse? How can anything be worse than this?"

Iphigenia's eyes lit up again. "Oh, Majesty. You have no idea."

4.

"By Gaia, child," Hera whispered, "what in the name of the Furies am I seeing?"

"The mortals adapt and change over time, Majesty," Iphigenia replied. "Over time, they tend to kill both in greater numbers and with greater efficiency. This is the result." The child goddess' voice was calm, but Hera could hear the strain underneath.

 _And no wonder,_ she thought.

Hera was no stranger to death. As the goddess of childbirth, she had seen innumerable mothers and newborns die during childbirth; sometimes both perishing together. Yet while such events were tragic, they were part and parcel of mortal existence. Even the death's she'd witnessed recently, though upsetting to her, had been familiar: mortals war on one another. War was like famine, or pestilence: the best mortals could hope for was to weather such things as best they could.

But this...

This was not war...

This was an abomination before which the gods themselves would weep.

To call the place they were looking down on a _ravine_ was an understatement. It was a great gash torn into the earth. The day was both cold and windy, but Hera barely felt the chill on her skin or the wind in her hair, so transfixed she was by the enormity of what was happening.

The ravine was filled with corpses. The pale white of their naked bodies contrasting with the crimson splashes of gore that covered them. As they watched, a ragged line of naked people, men, women, and children, were driven into the ravine by armed men clad in gray. The newcomers were then forced to lie atop the bodies before being methodically shot in the back of the head. The range was close, less than two meters, and blood and brains would fly up as the bullets struck home.

"What is the meaning of this, child?" Hera said, her anger barely held in check. "Where did the mortals get such weapons? Hephaestus would never make such things for mortals and my husband would never countenance their use! This is a monstrous crime!"

"Indeed it is, Majesty," Iphigenia agreed. "But we're a long way from Olympus, both in space and time. Indeed the mortals of this time don't really believe in us anymore."

"What!?" Hera yelled in disbelief and shock.

"In this part of the mortal world, Majesty, they tend to believe in only one god, or none at all."

"That's crazy! What part of the mortal ream is this, anyway!"

"Ukraine," Iphigenia replied. "We would consider it part of Scythia in our time."

They watched as another group of naked people were driven to the edge of the ravine. It was a mixed group: two elderly couples, four teenage girls, and a mother with a toddler. Hera noticed Iphigenia lock her gaze on the last two; and she too, found it impossible to look away.

There was a shout. The toddler was upset and making her discomfort known, crying and wailing. The mother, despite her nakedness and fear, was attempting to shush the child, but apparently not quickly enough to satisfy the executioners.

One of the uniformed men stepped forward and seized the child, pulling it from her mother's grasp. The woman shrieked and the child wailed piteously, the man's shouts an ugly counterpoint as he pitched the child into the ravine, followed by the mother. 

In that ghastly instant; as if from some place far away; Hera could hear Iphigenia whispering. Her words carried none of her usual detached analytical detachment, just a small frightened voice repeating the same word: _mama...mama_.

As the rifles went up, Hera grabbed the child goddess, burying Iphigenia's face in the folds of her _chiton._ "Oh gods, baby. Don't look!"

There was a fusillade of shots...

And then Hera lost it...

* * *

 _"BEASTS!"_ Hera screamed, revulsion and rage surging through her in equal measure: _"MURDERERS!"_

Divine power cursed through her body, lighting her up like a star. All her anger at her faithless husband and his stupid dalliances; all the fury she felt over being spurned over that damnable apple; these were nothing compared the apoplectic hatred she felt now. She gestured with her hands and her power leapt forth, sweeping over the uniformed men, who screamed and morphed under her wrath, transforming into the hideous monstrosities that the goddess saw them to be, _Knew_ them to be.

 _I condemn you to live out the rest of your wretched lives as what I make you to be!_ Hera thought with savage joy. _Then I will follow you down to the Underworld. I will pay the boatman myself, then personally hurl you into Tartarus! I will bind you next to Kronos himself! I will --_

"Majesty?"

Hera found herself on her knees, looking into Iphigenia's fathomless eyes. She felt lightheaded and found it hard to stand. Around them, the killers continued their murderous work as if nothing had happened.

"What just happened?" she asked.

"You tried to smite them, Majesty." Iphigenia said, her analytical tone returning. "Unfortunately, such things don't really work with the mortals here."

"Because they no longer believe in us?"

"Yes, Majesty. In fact they're not even aware of us."

Iphigenia's words, though spoken quietly, knifed into Hera, and her wrath gave way to a sense of helplessness so profound, she found herself on her knees again.

"I can do nothing for these poor people?"

"I'm afraid not, Majesty."

"Why don't they believe in us?"

Iphigenia smiled ruefully, "that's a long story, Majesty. Thank you, by the way, for holding me just now."

Hera was strongly moved. "That's what a good mother does, child."

Another fusillade of shots tore them out of the moment. Unwilling to watch anymore, Hera stared at the ground. "These... _people..._ kill like they're Hephaestus' automatons. They're more machines then men."

"Unfortunately, Majesty, it's worse than that." Iphigenia said.

"How can _this_ be any worse, child?" Hera asked, incredulous at the idea, but the child goddess haggard look spoke volumes.

"Only a small minority of mortals kill without compunction or for pleasure" Iphigenia replied. "Most of these 'machine men' are otherwise ordinary people; depressingly so. You wouldn't give them a second glance if you saw them at the market or the theater."

"Fill their heads with enough lies, though," Iphigenia continued, "and even the most ordinary person can be motivated to kill. Teach them to hate, Majesty, and innumerable ordinary people will become capable of murdering others, murdering them by the thousands. And if the lies and hate are strong enough the killers will view their acts as righteous."

"That's insane!" Hera cried.

"Yes, Majesty, it is. It's what happens when people abandon their critical faculties for a tissue of falsehoods and wishful thinking." Iphigenia said. "As for the victims, they were just people living their lives. Ordinary people living their lives until their ordinary killers came and ended them."

"Just like you."

"Yes, Majesty. Just like me. These people were deceived, just like me. They were lied to. The killers told their victims where to go and what to bring, telling them they were going to be 'resettled' elsewhere. The fact that the gathering point was near the train station gave this lie enough credence to be reassuring. Only when they were unable to escape was the trap sprung."  
  
"Like you were told you were going to be wed to Achilles." Hera said.

"Yes, Majesty. And by the time I learned the truth my fate was sealed."

Another crackle of gunfire came from the ravine; the murders continuing, inexorable; a metronome of slaughter.

"We're almost finished, Majesty," Iphigenia said quietly. "Only one more place to go."

"Wait!" Hera said; then hesitated, uncertain if she should continue; the child goddess seemed to sense her thoughts.

"How many were killed here, Majesty?"

"Yes, please!" Hera asked with an intensity that both surprised and frightened her. "I don't know why, but I need to know."

Iphigenia's gaze grew distant, as if she was seeing something far, far, away; or consulting something in her inner thoughts. "They started killing here yesterday. By the time they finish today, the killers will have murdered 33,771."

Hera gaped at Iphigenia in shock, suddenly speechless at the enormity of the number, as well as the obscene preciseness of it; the figure etching itself into her memory.

_Thirty-three thousand, seven hundred, and seventy one._

_People..._

_INNOCENT PEOPLE!_

"So many in just two days?" Hera whispered.

"Yes," Iphigenia replied. "Thousands more will be brought here over the next two years and murdered. Whole hecatombs of the dead will be murdered here."

"What in the name of the Unseen One is this horrible place?" Hera asked miserably.

"The locals call it Babi Yar, Majesty."

5.

The last place was the worst, if for no other reason than it looked too much like Olympus for comfort. True, the place wasn't nearly as big as the city of the Gods, and it lacked Olympus' glittering skyscrapers and sleek architecture; but it had many of the trappings of modernity: paved streets, telephone poles, modern buildings, even a couple of satellite dishes pointing skyward.

It also had bodies in the streets, scores of them.

"Where are we now, child?" Hera asked wearily. The awfulness of what she had seen; of what she was now seeing; the sheer scale of it all, blighted her thoughts.

"A town called Halabja, Majesty. The Iraqi Air Force bombed it a few hours ago."

Hera was about to ask what in Tartarus was an _Iraqi Air Force,_ but abruptly changed her mind.

_Do I really need to know?_

_It's just another device the mortals use to slaughter each other..._

The town had been physically damaged, that was obvious enough: several buildings around them were wrecked, one was still burning, and Hera could smell the oiliness of the smoke rising into the sky, along with another smell that reminded her of garlic. 

But there was something wrong with the bodies. While a few looked like they had died violently, most showed no sign of the horrific wounds she had seen up to this point; and yet even these victims had died in agony, their faces etched in horror; their bodies having a bluish cast, and covered in blisters.

Hera sniffed again, the garlic smell was stronger now. Then she saw it. 

"This place has been poisoned, Iphigenia."

"Yes, Majesty. The killers used more than explosives here."

"What are those puddles of yellow liquid?"

"It has many names, Majesty: Yellow Cross, Yperite, sulfur mustard. It precipitates out of the air and forms puddles on the ground...and blisters on the skin.

"What made them turn blue?"

"Any number of the other agents dropped here could have asphyxiated these people, Majesty." Iphigenia said, and there was a quaver in her voice. "The murderers were both sloppy and lazy, using several poisons and not really caring if one was necessarily more effective than another. One of them, called Sarin, kills its victims this way. It attacks the nervous system, causing the thoracic muscles to seize up; the victims literally can't draw breath."

There were several cars in the middle of the street, their doors hanging open, and the corpses of their passengers spilled out on the pavement, the blisters mottling their skin. The pair picked their way among the carnage, trying to avoid the sinister pools of amber fluid. A pair of bodies lay near an open doorway on the side of the street, catching Hera's gaze. Like so many of the other victims she'd seen this day, the pair were a mother and child, the latter a boy in this case, not much younger than Astyanax. The mother was huddled protectively over the child, trying vainly to shield him from the death that was literally all around them. 

_No mother here could protect her child from this..._

_No more than Clytemnestra could protect hers..._

_NO!_

The guilt she first felt back on Olympus returned with a vengeance and Hera sank to her knees, her thoughts dark with grief and self-loathing.

_I am the Goddess of Childbirth...of Motherhood...of the Family..._

_Instead, I allowed my vanity over a stupid bauble warp my judgement._

_I should have done something at Aulus all those years ago; intervened somehow, stopped it. Even defied Zeus...._

_Instead_ _I let my rage blind me to everything save my wounded pride!_

_I failed Iphigenia, I failed Astyanax, I failed all of them!_

Suddenly, a great wave of searing pain washed over her, and the goddess looked on in horror at the blisters forming on her skin...

* * *

"Child, we have to get out of here!" Hera gasped, getting to her feet. No sooner had she stood, when a voice came from behind her, a pent-up whisper just on the edge of agony. "Mama?"

Hera turned and gaped: the gray-skinned child goddess had vanished. Standing in her place was a girl not much older than Hebe, dressed the wedding regalia of Argive royalty. The white dress was quickly turning a sickly yellow and the child's mouth stood agape, yet silent, as if she was unable to comprehend the enormity of the pain she was in as the blisters rose on her flesh.

"NO!" Hera cried, catching the girl just as she collapsed. The pain was monstrous, and she ground her teeth as she huddled over the child, trying in vain, like the mother she'd just seen, to protect the girl with her own body..

"I'm so sorry, my child," Hera gasped. "I was prideful and stupid. I failed you! I failed them all!"

"Guilt is a weighty burden, Maj-j-jesty." Iphigenia replied through gritted teeth. "P-p-please don't take more than your share."

In spite of the pain, Hera was momentarily speechless. "H-how can you forgive me, child?" she finally managed to gasp.

"Y-y-ou were not the only actor here, M-m-ajesty. Not the only one bl-blinded by Hu-hubris. F-f-father could have st-opped it t-t-too. Br-br-b-roken the S-s-uitor's Oath. G-g-gone home!"

"Breaking an oath is a fearful thing, child." Hera whispered.

"It's also a c-c-convenient excuse f-f-or those w-w-ho lack the c--c-ourage to do what's right!" Iphigenia whispered savagely, her rage at her father apparent despite the pain.

Hera felt a burning in her eyes that was only partly due to the contaminated air. "You're right, my child. We were wrong, All of us were. I'm so, so, sorry!"

Agamemnon's daughter managed to rally enough for a weak smile. When she finally spoke her voice was barely audible, yet also free of pain. "Thank you for your words of remorse, Majesty. Thank you for your words of regret...mother."

Hera saw the girl's eyes roll back, felt the body go limp in her arms. Grief overwhelmed her and she let out a great keening howl that rang out over the contaminated land.

6.

"Daughter of Metis?"

Hera sat up, the scent of the woods around Aulus filling her nose. Artemis' shrine was to her left, but there was no sign of the moon goddess. She was still holding Iphigenia, and the sight of the child's ravaged body tore at her heart.

Hades and Hecate where standing next to her, looking down with expressions of both concern and loss. They were clad in black and their circlets hovered above their heads. The Lord of the Underworld was holding his bident, but listlessly, as if he would have preferred to have left it at home. Both deities looked like they rather be doing anything else.

"Bunny," Hades said gently. "We're here for Iphigenia." 

_"You can't have her!"_ Hera hissed savagely, wrapping her arms protectively around the the child's body. "We are all damned," she muttered bleakly. "The mortals will forget us and give themselves over to slaughter and ruin, and it's all my fault."

She felt a hand on her shoulder, heard Hecate's voice. "Hera, it's alright."

"How is any of this _all right,_ Hecate?!" Hera shouted, her grief becoming self-loathing. "I could have done more! I _should_ have done more!" This child, this sweet, precious, child was deceived and murdered and _I did nothing!_ " She began crying again, bawling like a child.

"Remember, what she said, dear friend," Hades said, kneeling beside her, his clean scent like a fir forest in winter: " _Do not take more than your share._ Things were set in motion the moment Paris made his choice, if not before."

"What do you mean?"

"Just that we're as subject to the caprice of the Fates as the mortals are," Hecate said with a sad smile. "No matter how powerful we may think we are."

Hera was unconsoled. "We also have free will, as Aphrodite reminded me. We could have chosen to behave otherwise. You stayed out of it, both of you did. Why didn't the rest of us have your sense."

"Well, while none of us have Hecate's common sense," Hades said with a rueful smile, which earned him a light smack on the shoulder from the Goddess of Magic; "I can't honestly say what I would I would have done in your place, Hera. Or Paris', or Agamemnon's. For better or for worse..."

"Your work kept you out of it." Hera sniffed, completing her friend's words. "Can I help prepare her?"

"Of course!" Hecate replied. "In fact, she asked if you would help."

"Is she safe, where she is?" Hera asked.

"She is in Elysium. Hector and Cassandra are taking care of her, and Astyanax."

"Hector and Cassandra?"

"Yes," Hecate replied. "Of all the people caught up in all this, they were the most blameless."

"What about Iphigenia's parents?" Hera asked.

Hecate looked uncomfortable. "Well, Clytemnestra's situation is...delicate. Agamemnon is..."

"In Tartarus," Hades said grimly. "Where he will remain."

The three deities set to work; Hades gathering wood for the pyre, and building the small wooden platform to lay atop it; Hera and Hecate washing Iphigenia's body, then anointing it with oil, both grimacing at the damage inflicted on it. Hera noticed her own fading scars and shivered at the memory.

When all was ready, Hera gently lay the Iphigenia's body atop the bier. There was a clear spot on the girl's brow, and the goddess gently kissed it. "Thank you, child," she whispered.

Hades then thrust a torch into the kindling and the oil-soaked wood ignited.

An uncomfortable silence ensued. Minutes passed and the silence grew thunderous. Finally, Hera, Queen of Olympus, Goddess of Marriage, Childbirth, and Motherhood; found her voice.

"We are here to mark the passing of Iphigenia, daughter of Clytmnestra and Agamemnon," Hera said. "May her spirit be at peace and may she never hunger nor thirst! May it always be so!"

"May it always be so!" Hecate and Hades said in turn.

Then there was just the silence and the smoke rising to the heavens.

FIN.

**Author's Note:**

> I understand that this tale is grimmer than most LO fan fiction. I am sorry if it was discomfiting to read. Rest assured, it was discomfiting to write. Yet it's what my muse bade me to write. My muse can be a bit depressing.
> 
> I don't know if I was able to depict the knowledge gap between the Olympians and our own times, or even if there is any gap. Do the gods have aircraft? Do they have firearms? If anyone can inform me of Rachel's thought on this, I'll gladly change the narrative to fit.
> 
> The fall of Troy is actually not mentioned in the Iliad, as such, which ends with Hector's funeral. The city's fate is alluded to in a mishmash of fragmentary material as well as in two extant Greek tragedies by Euripides" "Andromache" and "The Trojan Women."
> 
> The information on Aphrodite Areia was found in The excellent Overly Sarcastic Productions Youtube video on Aphrodite. You can watch it here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JIUq0pfAskU&t=299s
> 
> Sorry folks, my take of Iphigenia's fate is the sad one. No exile in Tauris. As an aside, I heartily recommend the 1977 film "Iphigenia" by Michael Cacoyannis. In Greek (w/ English subtitles). The look in Clytemnestra's (Irene Papas) eyes at the end. Brrrr!
> 
> The siege and destruction of Jerusalem during the First Jewish Revolt (66-73 AD) is covered in Josephus' "The Jewish War." Josephus fought for the rebels at first, then defected to Rome and wrote the work as a client to the Emperors Vespasian and Titus. An excellent video overview of the Siege is here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y741QbT1YEo
> 
> The massacre at Babi Yar (September 29-30, 1941) was part of the "Holocaust by Bullet" conducted by the Nazis, that murdered roughly 1 million Jews in Poland and the former Soviet Union during 1941-42. Culturally, there have been both poems and a pair of symphonies memorializing the victims of this horrific act. But there doesn't seem to be a non-fictional book in English dedicated specifically to the massacre. However, it can be found in any historical overview of the Holocaust. It is also depicted from the perspective of one of the perpetrators(!) in Jonathan Littell's harrowing novel, "The Kindly Ones." Readers should proceed with caution with that one. I wasn't able to finish it.
> 
> The massacre at Halabja occurred on March 16th, 1988. I pretty much used the Wikipedia entry for info.


End file.
